


A Distraction

by Amalveor



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, The Doctor can cure headaches, but his methods are unorthodox
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:41:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25358623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amalveor/pseuds/Amalveor
Summary: The Brigadier is facing an enormous pile of paperwork and a very long night ahead of him. He's already finished the last of his brandy and, as if things weren't already bad enough, he's got a terrible headache. Really, the last thing he needs is the Doctor's company. But the Doctor thinks he'd feel much better with a distraction.
Relationships: Third Doctor/Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	A Distraction

The long sigh seemed inconceivably loud against the silence of the small office. The room's occupant sat with his head in his hands. A pen, discarded at one end of the desk, leaked dark ink onto the wood and a clock dully ticked the seconds that passed by. His elbows rested alongside piles of unfinished paperwork and his head thrummed with the pain of focusing on short distances for a long time. He had been there for far longer than he would have liked and knew that his appearance showed it: unbuttoned collar, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his jumper exiled to the back of the chair. A brandy glass sat empty near the pen, being used as a paper weight now his small supply of alcohol was exhausted. 

The silence was getting to Lethbridge-Stewart, the silence that wasn't a silence. He could hear another clock ticking beyond the office and somewhere in the headquarters a door was banging shut in a draft. As he listened, he opened his eyes, previously closed against his palms, and focused slowly on the mountain of work still left to climb. As his head moved upward, he was surprised to catch sight of a figure loitering silently just inside the room.

“Doctor? What the blazes are you doing here at this hour?”

A raised eyebrow was the Doctor's only reaction to the slightly sharp greeting he’d received but he seemed unaffected by it, or at least undeterred in whatever it was he wanted now. Probably more UNIT funds for that blasted car of his.

“I should ask you the same question, Brigadier, he said, and came to perch on the edge of the desk, letting the door close behind him. “Working late?”

“These damned reports, I'm afraid. I keep waiting, but none of them have finished themselves yet.”

“Ah. Anything I could do to help?”

“Thank you, but no, they all have to be written by me personally, unfortunately. Completely nonsensical if you ask me, but there you are. Although, I would be glad of any ideas for a headache cure. You don't happen to have some alien jiggery-pokery up your sleeve for that, do you, Doctor?”

The Doctor smiled and pushed himself to standing from the edge of the desk. The Brigadier assumed he was about to leave but instead, he made his way around the other side. “As a matter of fact, I do have an idea that may help, if you would allow me to try.”

“Try anything you like,” he said simply. Nothing could be done about it. The large, unmoving stack of paperwork was the cause of both stress and headache and there was nothing that could make it go away quickly. Short of burning the office to the ground with a small, 'accidental' fire at any rate; an idea he had almost seriously considered several hours ago. But by the time he started to imagine the renovations they could make with the insurance money, he had already finished drinking the only flammable substance in the room. The Doctor's company was certainly preferable to the silence, however, and he was willing to let him try whatever he wished as long as he didn't leave just yet.

The other man dropped into a crouch before him, sitting as if on a low, invisible chair. He gave a showmanly flourish of his fingers, pushing back his sleeves with the force of it, and then reached out.

Before he had time to protest, the Doctor's hands were at his face, and they were unusually but somehow pleasantly cold. His thumbs found the small hollows behind his eyes and began to move in tiny circles of pressure. The coolness of the touch was soothing against the pain, and it spread outward from the points of the gentle fingertips until his whole skull felt it had been bathed in cool water. 

It was surprisingly effective. The tightness beneath his skin eased with every circle and by the time the hands drew back less than a minute later, there was barely anything left of the pain.

He gave a brief thought to being embarrassed by the intimacy of it all, but decided quickly against it. The Doctor did any number of outlandish and unusual things on a given day, and if he began to feel embarrassed by them now he would have a lot of catching up to do.

“That's remarkable,” he said, not able to think of anything more suitable, “Thank you.” 

And in any case, if he was going to feel embarrassed by anything, it would be the way the Doctor had been half crouching in front of his chair to reach him. He stood up and was pleased that the Doctor followed suit.

“I’ve another suggestion,” The Doctor said. “I would say that what you’re really in need of, is a distraction. Something to clear the mind before you get back to the task at hand.”

He knew that tone, it was the one the Doctor used when he wanted to sound mysterious and interesting. The one that made people warm to him, had whoever was in the room with him running to his side to assist him. Normally they were running away from something the Brigadier himself had specifically told them to do. And it was entirely wasted on Lethbridge-Stewart, who had heard it so many times as to be totally impervious. 

"I feel fine now, Doctor. Thank you. Just need to be getting back to work. I need to have copies sent off by Friday so I don't expect to make it home tonight. And I still have those blasted rep-”

His speech was cut off as the other man moved closer and placed his hand in the centre of his chest. He could feel the cool of his palm through the thin fabric of his shirt and this time there was no mistaking the strangeness of the touch.

“May I?” the Doctor asked, undeterred in his odd behaviour. He could think of no immediate way to answer the question and as he was considering he felt the hand move against his chest. The Doctor was tracing a finger down the line of buttons from his collar and it seemed for a moment as if he might keep going to his belt. But he stopped, midway through his journey, and curled a long finger around the button he found there, pushing his way into the open area where shirt met skin.

His first reaction was to breathe in, sucking in his stomach. He’d had rather more nights at his desk than days doing physical training recently and he’d be damned if he wanted the Doctor to know about it. Although as he adjusted to the touch it wasn’t, strictly speaking, unpleasant. He was busy considering that, which was why his second reaction came a few seconds later that it should have. “What the devil are you intending, Doctor?” He asked, trying to get something firm into his tone, but managing only breathy surprise instead. 

“A distraction.”

Blue eyes made long intense eye contact with his own as if waiting for him to move. Which he didn’t. And then the Doctor did. But forwards instead of backwards. And then his lips were pressed suddenly against the Brigadier’s.

They were cold too, but softer than they looked and for a moment all they did was maintain motionless contact with his own. He was confused, taken aback by the strangeness of it all, and that was the only good excuse he had for not pulling away as he ought to. But then the Doctor's mouth began to move against his, pulling away ever so slightly to plant tiny kisses against his lips and the Brigadier could think of no easy way to excuse his behaviour when he began to respond to the movement. 

Mouths pressed against one another in light, almost awkward kisses, slowly at first then picking up speed as the Brigadier allowed his frustrations with the evening to begin to escape. The Doctor cradled the back of his head, taking control. His tongue, as pleasantly cool as his fingers, traced the warmth of the Brigadier's lips, pressing against them until he let him in. It was too late to excuse himself now and he responded with a growing passion that would likely have surprised him had he powers of reason left to consider it.

It had been a long time since the Brigadier had been kissed by someone different and the pleasure was new and undiscovered and even more appealing because of it. He could hear the Doctor's breaths, nowhere near as sharp as his own, feel his moustache graze against the Doctor's skin and his body was reacting rather positively to the strange experience, enjoying itself without any input from coherent thought. Every kiss, every slide of tongues sent a tingle of pleasure down his chest. And the Doctor's hand was moving again, brushing along the buttons again, and this time he wasn't sure he wanted the fingers to stop when they did, an inch away from his belt. The Doctor undid a button with ease and then the next higher until his entire hand was pressed to skin. 

The Brigadier pulled his head away, momentarily unable to concentrate with fingers working their way across his chest. The lightness of the touch tickled his skin until he was torn between pulling away and pressing against him. He breathed gratefully through lips that felt hot and swollen and took mental note of the fact that somehow he had moved from standing to perching on the edge of the desk, the Doctor stood before him. The other man, without an eager mouth to occupy him had begun to kiss his way down the Brigadier’s neck, teeth and tongue raking along tender flesh. 

He swallowed, knowing the Doctor could feel the movement against his lips, “You know,” he said, his voice low, “I had thought you might just offer me an aspirin.” 

He chuckled in reply, a rumble against his skin, and the hand that wasn't bothering buttons touched his mouth and shushed him, gently. Truth be told, he was glad of the invitation to stay quiet. There wasn’t a damned thing he could think of to say.

The Doctor undid a final button and his lips pressed against his neck, licking and sucking. The movement was pleasurable to the point that he felt he might take complete leave of his senses should he allow himself to concentrate on it. Perhaps he already had, given the situation he was currently in. But it was considerably more enjoyable than the paperwork and the stress.

Cool fingers pushed from his breastbone outwards, causing his breath to catch in his throat as they skimmed over his nipples. Reaching the sides of his shirt, the Doctor pulled upwards, freeing the area of fabric which was still caught beneath his belt. His trousers moved as if to resist the escape and the tiny amount of friction it caused was just enough to make him painfully aware of his growing erection and how badly he wanted to be touched. 

Suddenly spurred into action, he thrust his hands in the Doctor's hair and drew him upward, perhaps a little too roughly. He needed to kiss him, needed to do something. He prided himself, after all, of being a man of action.

Their mouths met again, the Brigadier on the offensive, taking control, using the Doctor’s mouth in a way he wouldn’t with someone else, too rough, too mindless. His whole body was alight with a warmth that peaked at his crotch and made him want. He dropped his hands from the Doctor's head to his shoulders, pulling their bodies together, needing any kind of friction. 

The feel of the Doctor’s erection came as a surprise. Even in his current situation he couldn’t quite believe it. And yet the feel of it, something strange and forbidden, spurred him on. He pulled him closer still, hands at his back, feeling the softness of velvet. 

It seemed inconceivable that the Doctor should be totally dressed. His jacket, at least, had to come off. His hands travelled across the fabric to push the jacket off him and the Doctor moved his hands out behind him, letting it fall to the floor. 

Mirroring the Doctor’s earlier movements, he started to pull at buttons. Feeling like he was doing a pretty clumsy job of it, but enjoying the sensation anyway, he drew himself away from the Doctor's mouth and tasted the newly exposed skin. 

A strong heartbeat thudded beneath the surface and he traced his tongue along its path, sucking gently as he reached his collar bone. The Doctor gave a short gasp at the contact and the Brigadier felt like his ears were awakening from a deep sleep. He was suddenly aware of his own breathing, sharp, shallow and desperate and wondered how long it had sounded like that.

The Doctor's breaths were longer, more controlled, but shaky, as if they were proving difficult for him too. His hand, stroking along the Doctor's shirt made a noise too and noticing it made him pull his head away from the other man’s shoulder to consider it.

A line of buttons surrounded by the most ridiculous ruffles looked up at him and he was torn as to what to do. On the one hand he should probably take the shirt of and touch him. But on the other hand, the tightness in his trousers was encouraging him to do away with the teasing and the kisses and get on with the rest. The Doctor brought a hand to his face at that moment and stroked his cheek and the frills tickled softly. That made his mind up; the shirt stayed. Now if only he could get the Doctor to finish undressing him.

The Doctor looked down at the other man with a curious expression and for a moment it seemed as if he might try to speak. This time it was the Brigadier's turn to shush him, the audible hiss of air another sound to add to the room. Reaching for the Doctor's hand, he stilled its movement against his cheek.

Intertwining their fingers, he pulled them purposefully down to press against the bulge in his trousers and blessedly, the Doctor began to move, cupping his hand and giving a gentle squeeze until the Brigadier felt his hips push forward against the pressure. The hand at his crotch began to stroke him gently through the thick material while a free hand moved towards the buckle of his belt. Unsure of what to do with his own arms and too enthralled by the feel and the sight of the Doctor's hand between his legs to move, he brought them to rest on the other man's shoulders.

He held his breath as his trousers were lowered and released it with a shudder as his underwear followed, freeing his cock. The Doctor's hands were on him in an instant, not moving or stroking, just holding him, but the contact was enough to make his blood pound harder and he swallowed around breaths. He fought the urge to thrust into the Doctor's touch, allowing the other man control, and after what seemed like an age he began to move; a painfully gentle one-handed stroke while the other hand brushed at his balls. Then suddenly, the Doctor was on his knees. At the sight of his mouth so excruciatingly close he twitched towards it, aching for more stimulation.

His hands went to the Doctor's hair, stroking loose curls. A timid gesture. If he was brave enough, he would have pulled the other man's head towards him, forcing those lips where he wanted them. He wasn’t. Fortunately, the Doctor seemed to know, and certainly appeared to understand the gesture for what it was. Lips touched his cock in a torturously gentle kiss, and he could do nothing to prevent an involuntary jerk of his hips. The strangled gasp that escaped him was as close as he could get to speech, as close as he could manage to pleading for more.

The kisses continued, soft against him and then a cool hand drew delicately up his length for a cooler tongue to trail its way behind from balls to tip. As the tongue reached the head of his cock, the fingers descended, drawing back his foreskin and allowed unbridled access to the sensitive flesh beneath. 

The Doctor’s mouth bore down on him, soft and wet and tight, and the relief at the sensation, at the final end of the teasing was almost too intense to stand. He swallowed thickly, forgot to breath and was touching the back of the Doctor’s throat before he managed to gather conscious thought again. There was a pause but it didn’t last long before those lips were sliding up again and down again, a deft, tight hand moving where the mouth could not.

His throat and his chest felt tight, his hands grasped at the desk behind him, leaning back for support he could no longer find in his legs. He was shaking from the knees down, no part of his body under complete control and he knew he couldn't last long with that cool, talented mouth on him. But there was something...

“Doctor..?” His voice was hoarse and difficult as it broke the silence between them and it annoyed him that the other man paid no attention. “Doctor.” Louder then, and as close to an order as he could muster in his current state.

He gained a response that time, but not the one he'd been hoping for. The Doctor laughed silently with his mouth still tight around his cock, sending a tremor along his length. Waves of pleasure rose through him from the vibration, turning into a groan as they reached his throat and he thought he might come there and then with the Doctor's mouth half off him. He held himself still and felt the Doctor tighten his grip at the base of his cock, steeling him against the stimulation.

He pulled away, with a raise of an eyebrow and a wicked glint in his eye. “I'm not sure you're in the best position to be giving commands at the moment, Lethbridge-Stewart.” He gave a tug down the hot length to demonstrate and elicited a groan from above him.

“Get here, Doctor.” He said, voice as low, lip quirked to one side in what was almost a smile. And this time the other man obeyed, pushing himself to his feet, and into a forceful kiss.

“Better,” he managed in a gasp against the Doctor's lips and set quickly about his task. Undoing the Doctor's trousers, his hands were down them before they fell to the floor, the long, hard length of flesh under his fingers. If truth were told, he wasn’t entirely sure how to do this right- it had been quite some time since his only experiences, back when he’d lived in barracks- but he wasn’t going to allow this to be one sided. His right hand tightened into a grip and began a short, quick journey along the Doctor’s cock. Hips rolled beneath his fingers and he was rewarded with a low moan against his lips. Good.

His own cock twitched at the sound, aroused beyond belief, and his entire body felt taut and tense, fighting to keep standing. His free hand felt lost and clutched the Doctor’s shirt for purchase. His arm tucked between them, fingers grasping ruffles. The Brigadier let his hand stroke tight and fast until the Doctor pulled gasping from their kisses and set his own hands back to work. 

His touch was gentle again, soft frills brushing delicate skin as he moved, terribly slowly, but it was enough. It was more than enough. He wasn’t just stroking but rising and falling with a tender twist of his hand and the Brigadier let his eyes fall closed, the effort to keep them open greater than he could manage. He was too far gone in his own pleasure to stroke with any accuracy but kept his hold, trying his best to mirror the Doctor’s actions.

A quiver of pleasure ran though him each time the Doctor's hand reached the swollen head of his cock. The seconds of descent gave him a momentary respite from the almost unbearable stimulation, but the strokes grew quicker and the time between grew shorter, each movement more intense as it built on the pleasure of the last. He heard the quick, small noises he was making almost without realising they were coming from his own mouth and felt the sensations from the movement string together until there was no pause between them. Warmth spread outwards from the point of contact and escaped him with a shuddering breath as his back arched, his head lolled back and he let his climax take him.

Waves of pleasure rolled over him and he thrust forward as he came, holding so tightly to the Doctor that there would be bruises beneath the shirt. His other hand was still moving, automatically now, and didn’t let up until he felt the Doctor tense against him. Until he heard a low, guttural grunt of a moan as he too lost himself in orgasm. 

It was a few minutes before he found the energy to move. Shaky and feeling without a bone in his body, he picked his head from where it was resting clumsily against the Doctor’s shoulder. Their eyes met and the Brigadier thought, a little strangely, that that might have been the first time they had since all this had begun.

His body seemed to have second thoughts about moving away from the Doctor and he pressed himself against him again, putting his hands on his back in a peculiar hug. The Doctor might have chuckled. He felt the odd rhythmic movement of it and a hand slid across the back of his head, holding him where he stood.

“Are you feeling better?” he asked. It was a whisper but tinged with humour all the same. 

The Brigadier swallowed, testing his muscles before he spoke. “Suitably distracted,” he said, remembering the Doctor’s earlier comment. “I barely remember how to use my own legs, let alone what I needed distracted from.”

This, however, did prompt him to think of what he’d been doing. He pulled away from the Doctor to turn and take in the state of his desk. At some point during the proceedings several stacks of paper had fallen to the floor where they lay in untidy scatters.

“Blast!” 

“I’ll help,” the Doctor offered quickly.

“Doctor, having already coerced me into one severe breech of protocol this evening, you can jolly well write the damned things for me!"


End file.
